His chest rose and fell with his sharp, shallow breaths, and he was struggling beneath her now. Not to get free, but to get her to move, to drive deeper, to bring them both to a fast, fiery climax.

Bringing her right hand to her mouth, she licked the pads of her thumb and forefinger, then returned them to the same nipple to roll it between the damp digits. “Tell me what you want,” she ordered, her voice little more than a lacy wisp of breath. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Gage knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Jenna to untie his hands and let him touch her. Let him cup those delectable tits himself and lean up to take a ripe, pebbled tip into his mouth. Let him grip her hips while she rode him, helping to set the pace, moving her just the way he needed to bring them both to a crashing, violent climax.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on here, but one thing was for sure-a band of South American guerrillas armed to the teeth and threatening unspeakable torture couldn’t get him to call a halt to the delectable pleasures Jenna’s body was offering right this second.

She shifted slightly and his balls tightened. He locked his jaw and dug his heels into the mattress to keep from coming off the bed.

Later, he’d spank her ass-and not in the way he’d like to at the moment, which would heighten the sexual anticipation already bouncing off the walls.

But for now, he had every intention of taking her up on her erotic invitation.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped.

Her eyes sparkled and her mouth turned up in a self-satisfied grin, making her look for all the world like a devilish little pixie up to no good.

“But I am touching myself,” she replied, tugging at her nipples as she continued to bounce lightly on his lap, just enough to make him sweat through his teeth.

Air puffed from his lungs in short, heavy bursts and every muscle in his body strained toward her. The ties at his wrists and ankles chafed his skin where he’d struggled against them, because he couldn’t not move. He couldn’t not pull at the restraints that kept him from being able to touch his ex-wife the way he wanted to. Needed to, dammit.

His throat went desert dry as he studied her, took her in from the top of her head to her knees braced on the bed and straddling him.

Shit, she was beautiful. She always had been.

From the first moment he saw her, he’d been half in love and all in lust with her. He’d been a beat cop then, out on a routine patrol. Her car had been pulled to the side of the road with a flat.

She’d been in the process of calling Triple A, but that wouldn’t have given him an excuse to spend a little time with her, so he’d offered to change the tire himself. He’d ruined his uniform and hadn’t been as smooth in the process as he might have liked, but it did the trick.

Jenna chatted with him the entire time, and he’d quickly learned that she was a grade-school teacher on the way to pick up supplies for an end-of-the-year pizza party she’d promised her students as a reward for a district-wide recycling campaign she’d instituted and they’d helped to spearhead. It had also given him the perfect opportunity to show his interest in the youth of America… an interest she’d jumped on, soon asking if he might be willing to talk to her class the following school year.

Oh, yeah, he’d been willing. He wasn’t a big fan of public speaking, especially to a room full of kids who were either picking their noses in boredom or making faces in an attempt to distract him. But for the chance to impress her and to see her again, he’d have eaten live African cockroaches.

By the time he’d finished replacing her tire, he had her phone number and a date for lunch the next week so they could “discuss topics for his talk with her classroom.”

They’d ended up seeing each other a lot more than just that once throughout the summer. He’d discovered that she liked to knit and had mentioned the knitting group he knew Grace and Ronnie attended, which was how the three women had become such close friends.

And when the school year started, he almost spent more time talking to her class than he did on duty. By the time Jenna took the lid off the cookie jar and let him into her pants, he’d lectured her group of third-graders on everything from playground safety to saying no to drugs.

They’d also heard her call him by his given name so often that he became “Officer Gage” and started to get recognized by the eight-year-olds on the street and introduced to their parents. Many times as “the police officer who kisses Miss Langan when he doesn’t think we’re watching.”

It had all been worth it, though. More than worth it. Before the end of the following school year, Gage had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Jenna and had popped the question.

And from that, they’d come to this.

No matter how he cut it, this was the good stuff, but it wasn’t happily married good stuff. It wasn’t She’s mine and no other man will ever put his hands on her unless he wants to lose them good stuff.

Even as long as he’d had to get over that, it still pissed him off, but he was willing to suspend his annoyance. Just for tonight. Just for a while.

After that, all bets were off.

“Put your hand between your legs,” he ordered, feeling his temperature continue to rise at the sight of her fondling her breasts.

She continued to wear the cat-that-ate-the-canary smile that turned his insides all hot and molten.

“Like this?”

With deliberate slowness, she let the fingers of one hand fall away from her nipple and trail down her front, over her midriff, around her navel, and into the springy black curls at the apex of her thighs. When she got there, she stopped, simply letting her hand rest there, not moving.

“Now what, Gage? What do you want me to do now?”

“You know what,” he ground from between tightly clenched teeth.

She shook her head, sending the short wisps of her dark hair dancing. “I don’t. You have to tell me.”

His heart beat against his ribcage like a battering ram, and the muscles in his shoulders and forearms bunched with the effort not to bust the bedframe to get loose.

“Touch yourself, dammit. Slide your fingers between your folds and touch your clit.”

She did as he said, and when she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing back her head, he just about came. He was hard as a spike, hard enough to pound through concrete, he was sure.

“Mmm, that feels good,” she told him as though she were commenting on the taste of a particularly ripe strawberry. And then she raised her head again to look at him. “Now what?”

“Goddammit, Jenna, you know what,” he ground out.

One corner of her mouth twitched with cocky, confident amusement. “I do,” she admitted, “but I’d rather hear you say it. Tell me what to do now that I’m touching my clit. Tell me what to do to make you come.”

Jesus. She didn’t have to do much more than just sit there on his cock, wearing that angel-fallen-from-Heaven grin, and talking about things that would make a saint kick in a stained-glass window.

Panting, writhing beneath her, he said, “Move your fingers. Stroke your clit and make yourself hot.”

“You make me hot,” she murmured, but she did as he asked. While one hand continued to toy with her breasts, she used two fingers from the other to slide around between her folds.

She was wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening on her fingertips and melting around him from where she clasped him tight inside her body. And she used that moisture to ease her motions, to slick the tiny bud that caused her breath to catch and a pale pink flush to climb over her chest and throat.

“Faster,” he commanded. “And move your hips. Ride me like you promised.”